Poem: Every Death Has A Story

Every Death Has a Story

The building stands like a boxer, punch drunk, 

a fresh coat of paint on the front, 

the back and foundations battered, 

abandoned, 

the slow erosion of time and neglect leaving

a facade, waiting for the final beam to crack

or for the wrecker's ball to strike

one final blow, 

to end the song, silence the music

that once lifted the hearts, like you, 

now worn, now waiting, 

a fraction, nay

less than that, of who and what you were, 

still savable, but failing, struggling, 

unwilling to collapse, 

unable to rise, 

echoes of opera and burlesque, 

of soul dancing and moments of frivolous courage, 

all resound in the silence, 

you look at the whitewashed walls, 

aware

that every death has a story, 

even before it comes. 

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The pictures of are of the old Equinox Opera House, in Manchester Vermont. It was recently approved for demolition by the town, so it's days are numbered. You can click on it for a larger view, or visit my facebook album to see more shots. 

The Title was blatantly stolen from the New York Times, who take someone from the obituaries and fleshes out their life in a column called "Every Life Tells a Story." I am not an obituary reader, but that title gave me the idea.

Tom 

Poem: September Rain

September Rain

It is raining,
a slow, misty,
barely there kind of rain,
hardly seen, yet,
should you sit in the garden for
any length of time,
you are drenched,
the cold wetness
soaking deep into your bones;
a rain deceptive
and seductive,
like love
that has turned to....
something else,
a thing that no longer nourishes,
but creeps into your soul
and leaves it
November cold.

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The picture was taken at Elmore Roots, a nursery in Northern Vermont, where they say "If it grows in Elmore, it will grow where you are. " The original image was bright and rich green, but I modified it to fit the poem. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom